


First Blood

by ObjectiveMistress



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Ishval
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 04:39:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1765786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObjectiveMistress/pseuds/ObjectiveMistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Riza Hawkeye, like most people at some point in their lives, wondered what it would be like to take a human life. In the end, it was not as she expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Blood

**Rating:**  T

 **Word Count:**  ~1500

 **Summary:**  Riza Hawkeye, like most people at some point in their lives, wondered what it would be like to take a human life. In the end, it was not as she expected.

 **Author Note:**  First foray into the FMA fandom!

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Riza Hawkeye understood what death was at a very early age. It meant that her mother was gone forever, and that she was never coming back. It meant that she was a young girl without a mother, living in a house that felt empty with only two people living in it.

She saw that death meant pain for everyone that was left behind. She watched her father recess into sadness at his loss. He buried himself in his alchemical research with a sort of desperate fervor she had never seen in him before. Pain clung to him so tightly that everything else fell away. Housekeeping, exercise, meal preparation, and seemingly the love for his daughter.

Then there was her; a girl too young to comprehend the scale of the tragedy on her young life.

It was only natural for her to learn that death created ill effects.

But then, there was her father. The barely paternal figure passed away in the arms of his student. Berthold Hawkeye was a man who was steadfastly convinced that his alchemical discoveries would be an asset to mankind, and one that should be shared with someone who had the will and ability to make a difference. She had no reason not to believe him. It was that naïve belief that allowed her to sanction the tattoo on her back. He carved the creation of his mind into the creation of his flesh.

Roy was understandably upset. He rubbed soothing circles on her back during the small private funeral, unaware that his hand was just one layer above the knowledge he so badly wanted. He assured her that she had his support, and that it was no trouble at all to help arrange the funeral.

She didn’t shed a tear at the funeral. After all, her father had become twisted and distorted by flame alchemy. She had lost him long ago. Death just made it permanent. Perhaps death didn’t always cause pain to those left behind. Sometimes death lifted a burden, a weight off of the shoulders of those left behind.

"Riza?"

His voice snapped her out of her thoughts. Riza pulled her shirt back over her shoulders, covering the alchemic markings on her back. “Yes?”

"What will you do now?"

She took a deep breath, contemplating this for herself. “I’ve been educated well. I’m sure I can find a job and support myself.”

"Please, call for me if you need help," Roy smiles in a melancholy sort of way.

"Of course."

She can only imagine what the burden of his military service and new State Alchemist title are on him. So she doesn’t call when the money to keep the house drys up, or when attempts to find a job fall through. Riza Hawkeye had always been one who did what needed to be done.

She joins the Amestrian military.

Maybe here she can make a difference. She can contribute to a cause greater than herself, and perhaps find purpose along the way.

Riza of course knew that the military was in the business of war, and that war mean death and killing. But despite the whispers of unrest and troop movement, part of her always thought that she would end up behind a desk. She would shuffle papers, never seeing the big picture or the fruition of her work. Honestly, this would have satisfied her.

The push-ups, the timed runs, and the rifleman qualification would just be extraneous in the end. Of course, this was no excuse to take the tasks asked of her in basic training lightly.

That is, until their first time at the shooting range. The drill sergeant for once speaks calmly as hey explains how the standard-issue bolt-action rifle functions, along with the usual safety lecture. He points them down-range, and she drops to the ground in a stable prone position.

She has never fired a gun before.

And much to the surprise of those around her, she’s not bad. In fact, she’s above average, and enough so she won’t have to sweat her qualification test unlike many of her peers. It’s a game, and one she enjoys. Putting holes through paper targets pinned in the wind. It comes easy enough she spends her extra time at the range, honing her skills.

She passes her basic rifleman qualification in the ninety-ninth percentile.

The instructors take notice.

But the cadets notice something different: unease. Most of this year’s graduating class will surely be shipped out to Ishval. The unrest in the area is intensifying. Although the fighting in the area had been going on nearly seven years now, only recently were whispers of full-on war spreading.

Riza Hawkeye can’t help but to feel nervous. She only has one year left at the academy before she joins the rank and file. Being a foot solider would be hell.

But her instructors assure her that she will never be “just a grunt.” They have different plans.

Sure enough, she’s being coached one-on-one at the shooting range with the best instructors. They swap out her standard issue rifle and her bayonet for something of a higher caliber, complete with a long scope. They pull her farther and farther from the human silhouette papers downrange. She learns to measure distance and wind, and how to accordingly adjust so she punches a small hole through the “head” of the target each time.

They shake her hand and pin a new badge to her chest. She is now a qualified sniper.

The radio and newspaper reports reflect the incessant hallway chatter of the academy. Amestrian losses in Ishval are mounting at an increasing rate. She knows these dead soldiers wear the same uniform that she does, but they are faceless. She can’t accurately picture what one hundred, or a thousand bodies lined up looks like.

All she can do is keep her head down and keep working.

Until she is called into the commander’s office.

"You are being granted a special opportunity," slides an envelope of orders to her. "Your exemplary performance in the field of marksmanship means that you are being called to serve your country earlier than you most likely expected." There is a sad, knowing smile on his lips. "You are to be reassigned to Ishval as a sniper."

Her stomach drops and she calms herself quickly. It can’t possibly be as bad as the media is parroting.

"You will keep your rank of cadet until the campaign is finished. At that point, your rank will be determined by your performance. It’s a great chance to climb the ranks faster than your peers."

That never mattered to her.

"Good luck, Cadet."

She salutes and follows orders.

Cadet and sniper Riza Hawkeye arrives at the main camp. The desert is dryer and hotter than she ever could have imagined. She keeps her white hood up to protect her neck and head from the sweltering sun. Despite the war zone, things are routine. She takes long shifts with the other snipers, covering ground units as they patrol and try to keep the violence down.

But when Order 3066 is issued, things change. She is now ordered to shoot to kill every Ishvalan that passes through her riflescope. At first she’s horrified, but she has no choice.

She is ordered to cover an advance unit that is trying to gain a foothold in the northern area of the city proper. She finds a post suitable, and drops prone watch the advance.

That’s when she sees him.

Ishvalan. Strongly built. Male. He’s pressed against the wall around the corner from the advancing team.

Maybe he wants to escape. Maybe he deplores the violence.

But he pulls a pistol, and fires two shots around the corner.

One of the Amestrian falls.

Her job was to protect. Her job was to keep the soldiers covered as they moved into harms way. Her hands are tied now. She has no choice.

The crosshairs line up swiftly on the Ishvalan’s head.

She pulls the trigger.

Riza Hawkeye, like most people at some point in their lives, wondered what it would be like to take a human life. In the end, it was not as she expected.

It was far easier.

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 **Author Note:**  My good buddy Kwongs suggested that more character-study like fics are great for breaking into a new fandom. I’m looking forward to writing more FMA in the future! Comments appreciated!


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